


Broken Sleep

by Eureka234



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Male Friendship, One Shot, Open Relationships, POV Alternating, Sleep Deprivation, Story within a Story, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: Samson is used to not sleeping well. The rest of the Inquisition isn't. One shot.This was part of, "The Prophet just Isn't as Pretty" AU, but can be read standalone.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford & Raleigh Samson, Dorian Pavus & Original Male Character(s), Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Raleigh Samson & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Broken Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story which I have removed from the main plot of [_The Prophet just isn't as Pretty_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077811/chapters/16087750) as it is filler, though I thought it was amusing enough to post. It takes place around chapter 85. It showcases one of my OCs. 
> 
> There are minor spoilers for the fic in here. I also broke the canon a little.
> 
> The title was based off the song with the same name by Agnes Obel.

War table meetings had been one of the few tasks Samson was still able to do during withdrawal, so instead of dreading them, he looked forward to being able to contribute. His sleep was disrupted by the many joys of being ill, so he was used to a certain amount of sleep deprivation. For others in the War Room, they bewilderingly shared his inimical demeanor. Everyone except Morrigan had mugs of steaming coffee at their disposal - which made their lifeless expressions the more unusual. Cullen had barely finished placing all the needed paperwork on the table when Morrigan demanded, “What was all that infernal noise earlier this morning?" 

"It sounded like a gunshot," Josephine said. "Numerous Inquisition members complained."

"Yes. I was one of them," Cullen said. "I was enjoying being able to sleep through the night, and I didn't want it to be ruined again so soon."

"I just thought it was my imagination," Samson admitted. "There wasn't any screaming, so I didn’t think it was worth worrying about."

"Oh dear," Josephine said, shaking her head.

Cullen’s frown and slightly bared teeth clearly stated - _hearing gunfire is nothing to you?_

"I know what it was," Cassandra said grimly. She was slouching on her seat. 

"What, pray tell?" Morrigan asked. "Besides a gun firing. We wish to discover the answers to more important questions, like why such an annoying person is allowed to sleep within Skyhold."

Samson sniggered.

"It was Ser Alphonse," Leliana chimed in, grinning. "My agents told me right away."

"Why by Andraste's blade would Ser Alphonse fire a gun at odd hours of the morning?" Cullen demanded, moving his arms like he wanted to strike Alphonse right at that moment. 

"He told me he stole a gun from the Winter Palace," Cassandra said, tapping a pen on parchment, "and has no desire to return it."

"I don't believe the Winter Palace will miss a single gun," Morrigan said. "Celene will think it exploded in a rift or during a convenient 'accident'. The guard that fool stole it from will probably wish to decapitate his family, although I see no cause to stop this from occurring." 

"What type of gun was it, Leliana?" Samson asked. 

"No, we don't care what type of gun it is," Cullen cut across him. "Don't answer him, Leliana."

"I presume it was a hunting rifle," Morrigan explained. "They are pretty things, slow, with narrow bullets and flintlock firing. Orlais rarely has their own ideas, so their gunpowder is based on Qunari concoctions." 

Cullen glared at Morrigan. 

"I want to see it," Samson said. 

"Perhaps if Ser Marcus wishes to see the gun so badly he can ask Ser Alphonse to desist," Josephine suggested, smiling.

 _I love you, Josephine_ , he thought. She had such wonderful ideas.

"No. I will do it," Cullen said, organising his paperwork into three piles. "I wanted information first. Did you speak to him, Cassandra?" 

"Briefly," Cassandra acknowledged. "He did not tell me much about his motivations."

"What DID he say?" Cullen asked. 

" _‘Every time you drink lyrium, an innocent animal dies_ ," Cassandra recited, looking irked. 

Leliana and Samson laughed. 

"The withdrawal must be driving him mad," Leliana said, still giggling. 

"I hope he isn't really killing innocent animals," Josephine said, teary eyed.

"No," Cassandra said. "He has been shooting the bullets haphazardly into the air, scaring away groups of birds or nugs at most."

"Thank goodness," Josephine sighed in relief. "I am grateful the animals aren't hurt but I am worried if he has been frightening them."

"I feel sorry for the nugs," Leliana said. 

"So do I," Cullen said, "but most of all I feel sorry for me. Nonetheless since we know he is doing it because of withdrawal I may be able to help." 

_Better you than me,_ Samson thought. Alphonse and Samson may be now going through withdrawal at the same time, yet Alphonse was very particular about the times he wanted to talk. This was understandable. Being sick did not often inspire Samson to strike up conversations, even if he did desire company. 

"If you are not careful while you approach, Inquisitor, this Templar may shoot himself by mistake, and we understand how tragic that would be," Morrigan said, drily.

"His aim is good," Cassandra said. "He will shoot an animal before himself." 

"It won’t work forever,” Leliana said. “Soon he will run out of bullets." 

"No," Cassandra replied. "Seeker Elizabeth told me Alphonse had been collecting bullets from each arms merchant we have passed since leaving Halamshiral. He had been planning withdrawal since then and thought the distraction might help."

Cullen groaned.

"Does he not have anything less bothersome to do?" Morrigan snided.

While Samson didn't answer he knew how heavily reliant he was on his bad coping mechanisms. Starting that kind of debate with Morrigan in the room was not likely to help anything. They moved onto other topics. 

* * *

Cullen looked as though he was supporting a headache at dinner in the main hall. He had his hands on either side of his head, elbows on the table, and stared at his plate like it was the abyss itself.

Samson stopped by his chair on the way back to his quarters. “Looking forward to more gunfire at dawn, brother?"

Cullen picked up his spoon and rotated it. "Alphonse said he agreed with _the idea_ of not firing the rifle so early in the morning, but not the practice."

"Why not?"

"Something about how he needs a lesser evil to cope, but to qualify it must still be evil to a degree," Cullen grumbled.

This was not a new idea. In Kirkwall, Gamlen had replaced his gambling vice with another vice too. "Coffee?"

Cullen raised his spoon like pointing a knife, and uttered, "Don't you dare suggest to me ever again that Alphonse should consume a single drop of coffee. My ears would cease to work."

_Your ears barely work already._

The answer was so serious Samson nodded. "Alright Inquisitor."

* * *

Maybe Alphonse had said he wouldn't stop shooting to irritate Cullen, because from that day forward Alphonse did stop. Another problem took its place, which wasn't as noisy as gunfire. 

Samson woke the second time one night to vomit into a bucket then use the facilities. Through the walls he heard noise coming from outside his quarters. Was someone wishing to speak to him?

Cautiously Samson pushed open the door of his quarters. The main hall was eerie as the Hissing Wastes at this hour. The tables were bare with chairs upside down and balanced on top. It appeared more spacious with so few. Moonlight made each surface look like ice. The front doors were closed. In the dark it was obvious which other Inquisition member was awake. 

Alphonse was walking down the middle of the main hall, with the rifle at his side. He was in his linen night clothes and was otherwise bare footed. Wondering if perhaps he was having a lyrium craving at an unreasonable hour, Samson lightly paced over to him. 

“Psst, lad - are you okay?”

“Excuse me.” A soft, listless voice.

“Mmhm?” 

“May you please help me? I need to find a window.” 

Despite speaking to him, Alphonse remained fixated on what was in front. His voice sounded normal, yet something seemed off.

“What do you need a window for, lad?” 

“The stairs of Skyhold are out the window.”

“No, they’re not.” 

_Something cracked is going on here_

“I need to find _la_ _fenêtre_. Will you help me?” 

Samson moved slightly in front, squinted and thought he forgot how to breathe. Alphonse’s eyes were open, yet they had a glassy, faraway sheen. It looked like the gaze of the Tranquil - a chilling sight for a Templar.

 _Is this what sleepwalking looks like?_ Samson thought. 

“Hey, lad - odd question, but are you properly awake?” 

“I have so much to do. I must find the window with the stairs.” 

He continued to walk towards the sides of the main hall. Sleep walking. No question. When Alphonse had rambled about his experiences with lyrium addiction months ago, Samson had not anticipated he would ever witness it. The White Spire did brew lyrium differently, but Alphonse had been taking Inquisition lyrium for weeks. Maybe like all other addiction side effects, it took a while to completely disappear. 

Samson hesitated, heart pounding. _What the fuck do I do?_

He tried to remember what Alphonse had told him about his sleepwalking. Alphonse had almost walked into walls and had managed to travel incredibly long distances while having no idea. The only reason he had known what had happened in the Spire was because his roommate had seen it. Alphonse had also said the experience of being woken from sleep walking was alarming. 

_Maybe I can make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,_ Samson thought. Gently, he placed his hands on Alphonse’s waist, and moved him out of the way of a table. Passively, like being guided blind folded, Alphonse veered left. 

“Where’s your bedroom, lad?” Samson asked. “I’ll help you get back there.” 

_You are not to be in the same room as Seeker Elizabeth,_ Cullen had said. 

_Shit,_ Samson thought. He didn’t want to get in trouble. 

“I am trying to find the stairs to go down,” Alphonse explained. “I know it is somewhere out a window.” 

“There’s no stairs outside of windows, lad, sorry,” Samson repeated, losing his patience. If he tried to bring Alphonse outside he would need to get through the main hall doors. Even if he had a good reason to open them, someone would hear. Too much chaos would wake Alphonse up. No one was safe around a man with a gun who had no awareness of his actions. Moving to his right side, Samson held onto the barrel and tugged. Alphonse's grip tightened.

“I can help you find the window if you give me the gun,” Samson instructed. 

Alphonse made a pensive, slow, hum, and then let go. “ _Merci. Prends ce truc._ ” 

SIghing in relief, Samson pointed the muzzle to the floor. “This way.” 

For now, he would guide Alphonse in a circle until he could think of somewhere better to go. 

_Who else in Skyhold might know where Alphonse’s quarters are?_

Cullen was the obvious answer, or Seeker Evitt or Noah, but he didn’t want to wake Cullen. He knew where Lady Elegant, Susanne, Varric, Dorian, Sera and Bull were. 

Samson’s feet felt they were made of lead. _Bull or Varric probably know where everyone’s rooms are, and they could guide Alphonse there for me, so I don’t break a rule._

“Come with me, lad. I know where to go.” 

“Very well.” 

Gradually, they walked towards Bull’s quarters down a corridor to the far right. If physical restraint had to be involved in any way, Varric was not the best option.

“Why do you want to go down the stairs anyway?” Samson asked. Alphonse seemed semi-coherent while sleep walking, but still wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. 

“I have a lot to do.” 

Carefully, he guided Alphonse to Bull’s quarters three quarters of the way down the corridor. From the lack of moonlight, it was nearly pitch black here. Samson had to count the number of doorknobs he felt with his free hand to figure out where he was. 

“Wait, there Alphonse,” Samson said, sternly, as though talking to one of Leliana’s nugs. 

Taking a deep breath, Samson knocked on the door, waited, and then opened it. Bull was sleeping peacefully, accompanied in his bed by… Dorian. Thankfully, they were covered by blankets. 

“Bull,” Samson hissed, prodding him. 

“What? Oh, hey boss,” Bull said, sitting up. “Having some trouble?”

“Yeah, but not with me,” he whispered. “Alphonse is sleepwalking, and I need to get him back to his room.” 

“What's the problem? Walk him where he’s meant to go.” 

“I don’t know where it is - and I don’t think I should be the one to put him back there.” 

He had no intention of explaining the full details of why he couldn't to anyone.

Bull sat up in his bed and Samson covered arms to his face as the covers rolled off. 

“I’m decent, unlike yourself,” Bull said with a chuckle. He hoisted a leg out the side of the bed and stood. As indicated he had smalls on but nothing else. “How’re you going, Charity?” 

Samson sniggered. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who found Varric’s nickname for Alphonse funny.

Alphonse stepped into the room. “Do you know where the stairs outside a window are?” he asked. “I need to go there.” 

“No, you don’t,” Bull said. He wandered to him. “We’re getting you to sleep.” 

“What is all this mumbling ab -” Dorian groused. 

“Shh!” Samson interrupted. 

Dorian stood up too and his eyes widened. “Why do you have a rifle?” 

“Never mind that,” Samson said. 

“It’s his, and keep your voice down,” Bull said, pointing to Alphonse. “Believe me, you don’t want to wake a sleepwalker. They can get so freaked out they can punch you.” 

“All options considered, a punch would be preferable to being shot dead,” Dorian remarked. 

“Charity’s usually guiding you around,” Bull told Samson, “and now you have to do the same back.”  
  
“That’s endearing,” Dorian said, and it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

Alphonse looked around the room and outstretched his arms. “What is happening? There are no stairs here.” 

One of his palms touched Bull’s bare chest and moved up to his collarbone and down, as though tracing an outline of a stencil. 

“Fuck, he better not be one of those sleep gropers,” Bull said, raising his hands and remaining still. 

“Those _exist_?” Samson gasped. 

“Forget groping. I’d be worried about anything more serious than that,” Dorian agreed. 

“Then let’s move,” Samson said. “Someone once told him he almost pissed himself, and that was in the Spire.” 

“No thank you!” Bull said, and he pushed Alphonse’s arms off him in a fluid movement. “Come with me, Alphonse.” 

It appeared that Alphonse responded better to his own name when asleep, and not nicknames. It was usually the other way around when he was awake. 

Samson followed Bull out of the room and Dorian was last in line. He was also in his smalls. “I better join as moral support. Our delightful visitor Alphonse appears to be getting confused.” 

“Maybe he’s waking up,” Samson suggested. 

Dorian brought a finger to his mouth and Samson agreed to remain quiet. It was a gradual process of tip toeing through the corridor, surrounding a sleep walking man on all sides to halt him from getting injured. They moved at half their usual speed. Exhausted from withdrawal, Samson felt his concentration wavering. 

Dorian cast a faint light with magic so they weren't in complete darkness.

Alphonse, who was following Bull, suddenly grasped onto his arm, and wouldn’t let go. Bull paused to look behind him. Everyone stopped. 

“Hey there, you’re good?” Bull asked. 

“Please help me. Help me,” Alphonse implored, pulling back on Bull’s arm. “I need to find a staircase. It’s very important.” 

“From a window, yes?” Dorian prompted. 

“Will you help me, Bull?” Alphonse asked. He turned around. “Is that you, Dorian?” 

“That’s us,” Bull said, with a nod. “We’re helping you.” 

_Why does he recognise them, but not me?_ Samson wondered. For reasons he didn’t want to contemplate at this hour, this irritated him.

“Yes, be patient and you will get what you want,” Dorian said. 

“Thank you,” Alphonse said. He wrapped his arms around Bull’s wide torso and turned his head. “Dorian?” 

“Yes?” Dorian replied. 

“You have a lovely voice,” Alphonse said. 

“Hm, that isn’t the first time I’ve heard that compliment, although I am flattered all the same,” Dorian said, sounding bewildered. 

“Walk in front of him,” Samson mouthed to Dorian, moving closer to the wall to provide room for Dorian to sneak past. He followed the instruction, side stepping by Bull. 

“Dorian knows where you’re meant to be going,” Bull said, removing Alphonse’s arms from his middle. 

“I don’t in the dark, but no matter,” Dorian said. “Directions, please?” 

“The second left corridor,” Bull said. 

“This way, Alphonse,” Dorian said. 

This seemed to do the trick. 

Alphonse followed dutifully behind him. Now Samson was in the back of the line. He tried to picture how differently the conversation would have gone if Alphonse was awake. For one, Alphonse would be asking to find the main hall door, and not a bloody window. 

They’d turned a corner, and Alphonse suddenly unbuttoned his nightshirt and slid it from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Samson picked it up behind him. 

“Leave your pants on,” Bull told him.

“But they are getting in my way,” Alphonse said. 

“No, they’re not,” Dorian said. 

“Is someone there?” called a voice. It was Seeker Elizabeth’s. 

Samson froze. _Damn it, she’s not meant to see me._

“It’s Dorian, Bull and the Herald,” Dorian said. “We have your barely conscious boyfriend here with us.” 

“Thank the Maker you found him,” Elizabeth said. Her voice was shaking. She walked faster down the corridor. “I was going into a panic."

Samson hurried forward and gave Bull the shirt and the rifle. “Take this.” 

Bull nodded. “The lack of clothes on us isn’t what it looks like.” 

Turning away to hide his face, Samson listened to her voice. He imagined how she must look, slightly flustered and wrapped in a woollen cloak.

"It looks like mon chou was sleep walking."

"Then it is exactly what it looks like," Dorian amended. 

“My... darling?” Alphonse asked, sounding uncertain. 

“Yes, it’s me, mon chou.” 

“I have been trying to go outside,” Alphonse told her. 

“I know, sleepy head,” Elizabeth said. “Outside is for when the sun is high. Who do I have to thank for finding him?” 

“The Herald,” Dorian said. 

“He wanted to give you these back,” Bull said, offering her the shirt and rifle. 

“I won’t stay, though tell him I say thank you,” Elizabeth replied. 

“Will do,” Bull replied.

“He is over there if you want to tell him yourself,” Dorian pointed out. 

“We are supposed to be keeping a distance right now,” Elizabeth said. “Can you hold this until I guide mon chou to bed?” 

“Sure.”

Samson looked up, and around what he could of Bull. Alphonse had grabbed Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Ma cherie, you’ll help me.” 

“You’re safe, mon chou,” Elizabeth said. 

“I suppose he is a sleep groper, after all,” Dorian remarked, and Samson didn’t want to know what was happening anymore. 

“Err, it’s a talent of his,” Elizabeth said. “He only does it to me, but he’s harmless. I can manage from here.” 

“Thank you,” Alphonse said, as Dorian and Bull said the same. “I hope you don’t get lost.” 

“We’ll get back to our rooms easily,” Bull said. 

“He finds his sleepwalking episodes really embarrassing, so please don’t tell anyone,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll tell him what happened tomorrow, and if he wants to talk to you about it, he’ll come to you.”

“Understood, Elizabeth,” Dorian replied. 

There was nothing more to say or do. Once Samson returned to his bed it became apparent how numb his feet were from walking barefoot on the cold floor. 

Withdrawal made most nights unpleasant anyway. 

* * *

The next morning Samson was provided some letters from the advisors to proofread. His concentration wasn’t useful for much else and being sick used up a lot of time. This did give the advisors more time to work on other jobs they had to do. While having a break, he sat on the grass in the courtyard. The sun kept him warmer than any layers of jackets could. 

Alphonse also wore extra layers of clothing, and probably looked just as pasty as Samson. He walked in Samson's direction. Eyelids heavy, he raised a hand in acknowledgement. 

“Ser Marcus, thank you for helping me last night,” Alphonse said. He sounded more grateful than his expression showed. Probably withdrawal.

“Don’t mention it. You sleep alright after?” 

“Yes.” Alphonse tapped his fingers against each other. “I, uh, hope I didn’t do anything too scary.” 

“Erm, carrying the rifle around was,” Samson said. “You don’t have to tower over me. Trees give enough shade.” 

“Withdrawal makes me forget the simplest things, like how I am not a tree,” Alphonse admitted, with a small smile. He sat down so the sun was behind him. 

Samson wanted to smile back but was too exhausted. 

“The gun had no bullets inside it,” Alphonse continued. “Ma cherie and I thought this might be a problem, so we decided that if I picked it up in the night, she could tell I was sleepwalking.” 

“Mental.” 

“I believe so.” He looked down. “Did I do anything… silly around Dorian?” 

“You said you liked hearing him talk, if that counts.” 

“Did I?” Alphonse’s eyes widened. He hunched over in terror, like learning inappropriate letters were sent while intoxicated. “ _Non_!” 

“I don’t reckon he thought much of it.” 

“I don’t think you would know.” Slight disapproval was replaced with apparent panic. “I must apologise to him. I do not wish him to think wrongly of me.” 

“You can say sorry if it makes you feel better.” 

“It would. Ma cherie might think it is a cute story though I will wish I could wipe his memory of it.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“I suspect he would rightly not know what to do if he knew I found him very interesting,” Alphonse said, with a frown. “I try to hide this.” 

Now that Samson had gotten used to the fact that Elizabeth and Alphonse’s relationship was not ‘typical’, anything that _was_ typical was beginning to sound strange.

“Elizabeth doesn’t mind, so why do you?” 

“My guess is Dorian would not think about me the same. In Orlais we say I would, euh... _se prends un râteau_ \- rejection is like stepping on a rake and having it hit your face very hard.” He brought one fist into his other palm. 

Samson laughed. “Ouch.” 

“Yes! I hate it.” 

“Bond over the dumb thing you said. You can laugh about it.” 

“I will try.” 

“What would happen if Dorian did find you interesting?” Samson asked. 

“ _Sais pas_ ,” Alphonse slurred, with a shrug. “I am not used to being around another charming man so much. I just feel stupid."

"’Cause you said something sappy?"

"I feel in control of myself when I am infatuated with another person. As soon as the interest shifts towards something else - even if it is small - that’s the end, _fin_. I act like a fool.” 

“Most would act like morons when infatuated too, so you’re better than them.” 

SIghing, he stood. “I am being foolish talking about it and doing nothing. Dorian saw me sleep walking and take off my shirt. I can’t lose much more of my dignity.” 

_You coulda taken your pants off too,_ Samson wanted to say, but instead said, “That’s the spirit.” 

Alphonse gave a very cynical chuckle, shook his head and left. 

* * *

As Alphonse had limited energy, he hoped he didn’t have to look far for Dorian. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) Dorian was in the library. He sat in a chair in the middle of two bookshelves, reading, dressed much better than anyone else in the vicinity. Part of his chest was exposed, gleaming slightly in the torchlight. Few men could make revealing clothing look so incredible. Suddenly feeling feverish and lightheaded, Alphonse leaned against the other side of the bookshelf. His heart raced. 

_I have to stand far away from him that he cannot smell lyrium withdrawal on me._

_How many meters is that? Two or three?_

Besides his girlfriend, Dorian was one of Alphonse's favourite people to speak to. He was certain this was much to Dorian's dismay, so he made a great deal of effort to remain polite and limit the length of interactions. The Inquisitor could find him annoying and it wouldn't matter. With Dorian he was careful. He couldn't talk too much or for too long. Sadly, he had a habit of breaking this rule as soon as Dorian asked him an intellectually stimulating question. This happened to be a type of question Dorian asked a lot.

Alphonse took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. 

_He must not ask for my opinion on anything_ , he decided, gaining resolve. Then, he hated himself for having opinions. _Ma cherie does not think I need to be quiet! Only when she is busy with something else._

The moment Dorian walked by, he looked away _._

 _Stop being so fearful. You have a girlfriend. Rejection will be like a pillow being thrown at you_! He scoffed at himself. Deep down, he knew this wasn’t true. Rejection when he could run to his girlfriend for comfort was like being hit with a pillow filled with bricks. From a distance it looks like it won’t hurt, until it gets close enough. His heart would be bruised.

_I am not professing anything serious - what could he say in response to my apology? ‘The sound of your voice sickens me!’?_

Alphonse gulped. _Please don’t ever say that to me, Dorian!_

Having finished a sufficient moment of melodrama, he stepped out from behind the bookcase to find Dorian back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. He had just started a new book with a leather-bound cover.

"Dorian… you are not expecting anybody in the next couple of minutes?"

"Nobody I imagine would be worth my time,” he replied, snapping the book closed. “Why?"

Alphonse steadied his breathing. "I wished to apologise if I concerned you last night with my... lyrium induced problem."

"The sleepwalking?” Dorian checked, nonchalant. “You’re forgiven. The Herald was the one who woke me up for ten minutes. If anyone needs to apologise, it's him. It isn't the first time I had witnessed that sort of trouble. I am pleased the Herald found you, stopping yourself from stumbling into your own demise."

Alphonse chuckled, slightly glancing away. "I am pleased too, though to be honest with you it is very humiliating that the Herald came to my rescue."

Dorian grinned, his eyes twinkling. "No surprises there. I would have thought in Orlais receiving help of any variety is mortifying."

 _Don’t smile at me so beautifully, you monster!_ Alphonse thought. 

He returned the smile. "This is true to an extent, but my darling Elizabeth trained me out of it. This Southern culture is good for some things, I hear."

Dorian chuckled. "Not as many things as I had been promised. Whatever disappointments I could list is moot. I cannot deny that Ferelden has charm on occasion."

"Indeed!" Alphonse remarked. "It might not seem like it, but the Herald and I have some shared history. This is why him helping me was so horrible."

"I did not know that. What kind of shared history?"

"He and I have more in common than I want to say," Alphonse said. "I will not bore you with the details. I… thought it was obvious."

"There's something complicated happening, yes. Anybody can see that. Beyond that, I am afraid I am blissfully ignorant."

Alphonse stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. "Perhaps I am thinking too deeply into it."

"I would say that's likely."

He glanced down. "It was also embarrassing to hear from Elizabeth how I acted around you. It ruined my air of mystery, you understand. It is the worst thing ever to happen."

Dorian chuckled. "Really? Even worse than the Herald finding you?"

"Much worse. I have been in a number of awkward situations with him now, but even the slightest bizarre situation with you makes me worry so much! I hope you can forget about any unbecoming things I may have said."

"I appreciate it, but I don't put in any special effort to forget nice words that are said to me, even if they are slips of the tongue," Dorian said.

"You are too kind. My, my, I believe I am about to make you fall asleep with my big mouth.” He stepped to the side. “I must go, but thank you very much for speaking to me about it." 

"No problem. I wouldn't worry too much about the integrity of your veneer of mystery," Dorian said. "There's still some mysteries left, even if you did remove some of your clothing last night."

Out of nerves, Alphonse laughed. “I prefer to be awake for anything as terrifying as that. But, erm....” He stopped, having forgotten what he was going to say. 

Dorian tilted his head, as if interested. “You probably need some sleep. I’ll let you go.” 

“Y-yes,” Alphonse agreed. He forced himself to walk away. His body felt it might seize from how nervous he was. _Dorian was so kind to me! Was what I said sensible? Perhaps. Was I sensible? No._

With every step he took down the stairs, his head hurt more. He brought the back of his trembling fingers to his forehead. Were the shakes from Dorian or lyrium? 

There was only one person he wanted to be with right now.

_Ma cherie, where are you hiding?_


End file.
